


Fifth time's the charm

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's a genius physical therapist with a plumbing problem.  He calls on Misha, a genius plumber with a public relations problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifth time's the charm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "service" square of my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. Beta'd by [](http://marlee813.livejournal.com/profile)[marlee813](http://marlee813.livejournal.com/).

It’s taken effort, and a lot of sweet-talking Zoe, his sometimes bitchy, sometimes sweet, always frighteningly efficient assistant into helping out, but Jensen Ackles has managed to rearrange his schedule to score an extra week off work before his family’s visit so he can get the house in order. He needs to buy some furniture for the bare third and fourth bedrooms, needs to do some serious spring cleaning, needs to buy a metric shit-tonne of food, and absolutely MUST get at least one of the unfinished bathrooms operable—no way he’s sharing his en suite with two parents, two siblings, two siblings’ significant others, and an as-yet-undetermined number of miscellaneous cousins. That just might spark World War III right here in peaceful California.

First up, then, he wants to do something practical and straightforward and satisfyingly manly. Like installing the vanity and toilet just lying there getting dusty in the house’s main bathroom. He’s good with his hands, he’s a college graduate, it shouldn’t be that hard, right?

An hour later, Jensen finds himself surrounded by plumbing fixtures and sitting in an inch of cold water, and is obliged to face facts. He may be an expert at getting an injured quarterback ready to play again, or helping a ballerina avoid the foot injuries common to her profession, or even guiding someone along the long and wearying rehabilitation process after a spinal cord injury. He is apparently _not_ the kind of guy, however, who can do simple plumbing tasks in his own home. It’s a blow, but he’s not one to dwell on it. His physical therapy practice is booming, and by all estimations he’s less than a year away from true millionaire status—so what if he has to pick up the phone and find himself an actual, qualified, experienced plumber? Jensen sighs, mops the floor, then heads to his home office to look up local contractors.

***

“Fuck,” he says, staring at the phone he’s just put down, having been told by the fourth contractor’s receptionist that they’re too busy to help. They can send someone for an emergency (at an astronomical callout charge), but apparently needing a bathroom or two finished before your entire family arrives from Texas to make your life hell isn’t, in plumbing terms, an emergency.

The fifth time’s the charm. Not that Jensen realises that at first.

“Heigh ho!” says the voice on the other end of the line.

Jensen blinks. “Hello. Is that Collins Plumbing?”

“Indubitably. This is Misha. Are you having a tub-related catastrophe? Dragons infesting your drains? Portal to Hell opened up in your shower stall? Something fun like that?”

Jensen laughs despite himself. This guy sounds like some stoner dudes Jensen knew in college, only more lucid. “No, I just need someone to come plug in the fixtures in a couple unfinished bathrooms.”

“Oooh,” Misha says, sounding every bit as excited as if Jensen _did_ have dragons in his drains, “I can totally go to war for you there, champ. Name your battlefield!”

So Jensen gives him the address. And makes sure the guy knows that he’s going to need to see some kind of professional credentials.

“I can be there in about half an hour, traffic gods willing,” Misha says, not at all offended.

***

He’s there in thirty-five minutes, pulling into the drive in the most brightly-coloured plumbing van Jensen’s ever seen. It actually puts him in mind of John Lennon’s psychedelically-painted Rolls Royce. The man himself is tall, skinny, bouncy, and wearing tight-tight jeans with a tight purple t-shirt. Totally fuckable, Jensen thinks, and decides he’ll scold himself for that later.

Jensen introduces himself, still staring.

“Misha Collins,” the guys says, juggling his toolbox and the six-pack of orange soda he has inexplicably brought with him so that he can offer Jensen a hand to shake. “Plumber extraordinaire. Plumbing savant. And the plumber you call when everyone else is busy.” He beams. “Soda?”

Jensen accepts one in some bemusement before leading Misha to the scene of the crime.

“Ooh, someone’s been naughty,” Misha says, surveying the damage. “I should spank you for this.”

“Maybe later,” Jensen says, and enjoys the way Misha’s eyes bug out.

Misha Collins makes no attempts to hide the plumber’s crack that comes into view when he crouches to sort his tools and his already low jeans slip down further. It’s, um, distracting. Isn’t plumber’s crack by definition supposed to be hideous? Jensen should probably not be staring so…

“I’ll, um…”

Misha turns his head to look at him. “You’re welcome to watch me work.” For some reason, he punctuates this sentiment by wiggling his ass. “You might learn a thing or two.”

Jensen swallows. “Just come find me when you’re ready to give me a quote, okay?”

***

Jensen sits in his office, drinks his soda, and gets absolutely nothing done until Misha Collins appears by his chair to hand him a quote. It’s written in purple ink on the back of someone else’s business card (“Jimmy Novak, Tax Accountant”). It seems very reasonable, without being suspiciously low. “Okay,” Jensen says. “We can talk about the other bathroom when you’re done there.”

“I get more work if I’m a good boy?” Misha says. Then he shrugs. “Suits me, boss. I’m gonna be turning your mains water off, so if you need to wash your hands or anything, now’s the time.”

Jensen nods and says he’s good.

Misha turns and _skips_ out of the room, leaving Jensen wondering how of all the plumbers in all the world he managed to get the one who was meant to be a children’s entertainer. Or a drug-addicted fashion designer. _Something_ besides a self-employed tradesman.

***

He maybe kinda peeks when Misha starts hooking up the vanity faucets and drain. He’s rolled up his t-shirt sleeves so his well-toned arms are fully on display, and there’s sweating and grunting as he shifts heavy things, wields wrenches, hefts various dangerous-looking tools, and so on.

“I want to have a look at that shower unit after this,” Misha says conversationally, like he doesn’t know or doesn’t care that Jensen’s been ogling him. “Just check it was put in right. Won’t take five minutes.”

“Fine by me,” Jensen says. “So how come you’re not busy when all the other guys in town seem swamped?”

Misha shrugs, lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, revealing a delicious expanse of flat belly and enticing treasure trail in the process. “Repeat business. I never get any. Apparently I give off _vibes_.”

“That sucks,” Jensen says, wondering if he should be alarmed to hear that.

“Meh,” Misha says. “It was either this or politics, and somehow I doubt I’d be more beloved as a politician.”

Jensen isn’t sure whether it’s safe to laugh at that.

After he’s done with the vanity and the shower, Misha turns the water back on, then demonstrates for Jensen that the toilet flushes and doesn’t leak and that there’s both hot and cold water available from the vanity faucets and the shower.

They chat while Misha gets through the work in the other bathroom even faster than the first. Jensen supposes it’s because he’s now familiar with the style of fittings used in the house. They talk about sports, and the theatre, and Misha doesn’t once complain that he’s a distraction.

“I need to take a piss,” Misha says, as he’s packing up. “I’ll go put the water back on, then I’m testing this toilet, okay?”

“Sure.”

“And then you can cross my palm with filthy moolah.”

“Yeah. And then I get to go buy crap to furnish some bedrooms with. And I have to impress my sister-in-law, who’s an interior designer.”

“You poor thing,” Misha says.

***

It’s on the front porch that Misha’s whole attitude changes, goes serious, as he spins around to face Jensen. “Um,” he says, and rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “You could, uh, call me? To help with the making-ready-of-house? I don’t have a _great_ eye, even if I _am_ flamingly queer, but two heads are better than one? And I’d like to help. I _love_ helping.”

“Like a friend thing?” Jensen queries.

Misha ducks his head. “Friends, yes. But also possible cock-sucking?”

Jensen pats his head. “You are a strange, strange fellow, Misha Collins. And I’d be honoured to be your cock-sucking friend.”

Misha beams and bounces on his toes. “Okay. Cool.” And then he’s gone, prancing jauntily away, humming to himself.

As he backs the van out, Jensen can hear the audiobook he’s playing on the stereo. Which, if he doesn’t miss his guess, is in fucking _Latin_ , man. Jensen grins, shaking his head in a sort of amused disbelief. He’s definitely going to call him. He’s not sure he’s going to recommend Misha’s plumbing services to all his friends, though. One of them might snap him up, and then Jensen would have to be jealous and that just basically sucks.

 

***END***


End file.
